


In someone else

by Rattle



Series: Will Power [2]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Come Eating, F/M, First Time, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Sex, do you want ants because that’s how you get ants, food in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29387376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rattle/pseuds/Rattle
Summary: He's full of miracles when she's around.
Relationships: Sebastian/Female Player (Stardew Valley)
Series: Will Power [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158782
Comments: 8
Kudos: 105





	In someone else

This house smells like her. 

There’s a knot inside of him still, and Sebastian stubbornly pulls at the thick thread, expecting it to tangle harder, but instead it untangles in one go. A miracle. Sometimes he thinks he’s full of those when he’s with her. 

They kiss fiercely as she presses him into a wall. She’s brisk and a little rough, but then she remembers herself and eases both her grip and the kiss. She’s scared he’d slip away again, but _there’s no need to be afraid_ , he thinks to her. His hands, firm on her shoulders. 

The two of them exchange places. 

Frantic pulse spills into his mouth through her neck, Sebastian drinks it in, as sandpapery fingertips sneak under his shirt. Exhale, exhale again, until there is no more air left. Inhale, and fill the lungs with her. She’s whimpering and shaking, harder than he is when he’s pulling off his hoodie, dragging the shirt along with it. She once told him his skin looks like it’s continuously absorbing moonlight. She wanted to tell her nice things, too, but never did. _Going to, now. Just, not with words._

Sebastian feels tipsy. He isn't. At this point, it’s a perpetual state of mind in her presence. 

Her tongue tastes him slowly, dragging, from his throat to his collarbone to his chest. He didn’t know his nipples were that sensitive. He didn’t know he was capable of making _that_ sound when her palm squeezes his groin through his jeans, carefully, out of sync with her tongue that’s dancing, drawing uneven circles, lines and shapes to where it would soon meet with her palm. For a while, it’s too much, all of it is too much, it shrieks and it trumpets and it beats the drums in his head. And then, all at once, it’s completely quiet. She makes it quiet. The only noise he willingly tolerates, and loves, at times, is music. And she is just that. Full to bursting with his favourite songs, and songs yet to be heard, discovered, played to death. 

“Sebastian…” 

He drags her away from the hallway and throws her onto the bed in an almost brutal fashion. He’s not like this, normally, but _what is normal anymore_. 

He wants to be gentle. He wants to leave markings. He wants to fade into view, _for her_. Sebastian undresses her, piece after piece flying off to somewhere that doesn’t really exist right now, until she’s completely naked, and he pulls away. It’s a while until Sebastian realises that he's just standing there, staring, short of breath, reaching but not daring to touch again, with her, sprawled in front of him, panting as well, knuckles white as her fingers bunch and squeeze the frilly patchwork quilt. He’s salivating heavily. 

“Touch me, please touch me,” she whispers. A broken, breathless plea. And he kneels next to her, jeans painfully tight. 

The caresses he showers her with are erratic, scattered, disorderly. One second he licks a long line from her throat to her belly, the next, he’s sucking bruises into her neck, and her ribs, and her thighs, forcefully steadying her trembling body with his arms, biting voraciously, kissing gently, and then drags his nails across her skin, barely remembering to watch for her reactions. He just wants to touch and _taste_ everywhere, but he can’t be everywhere at once. Somewhere in the back of his mind is this one rational thought of how there’ll be time for everything later, how he doesn’t need to rush, _but what if there won’t be._ What if he’s not good enough for her. 

The air escapes her lungs in short, hitching tremors, her eyes are closed and her lips are moving. He bends low to hear. 

“Please... Please, Sebastian.” Weak grip on his wrist, dragging it down. 

Some of her is sun-bleached, weather-beaten, but she’s so smooth and soft down there, the way no other part of her is. And so wet. _Is this for me._ His mouth is watering as his fingers touch and explore, pushing slightly in and out again, and circling, and rubbing, pressing the keys of her, creating a quiet melody out of her moans. He wants to make it louder, make it blare in an eardrum-shattering crescendo. So Sebastian pulls her legs apart and dives down; Tongue, a famished snake poised to attack at last. This is what he should have been doing for months. _Been missing out._

He thinks of pumping his cock as he laps at her, and as she squeals and thrashes; It’s impossible not to think of doing it, he’s never been so aroused and so _hungry_ in his entire life, and the fabric of his jeans feels like it’s about to bust. But he also doesn’t want to stop, can’t stop, can’t move away, even for a second. Hands busy, five fingers firmly on her thigh, aiming to leave an imprint, two inside her, looking for a rhythm that fits. So he grinds his hips into the mattress, groaning against the warm wetness of her. He’s learning on the go, and the process of discovery is suddenly exhilarating, and doubt, forgotten. Different beats, different movements, different spots, up until he finds one that makes her howl and throw her hips up. Mouth sealing over it, he pulls, sucks the skin and the juices of her in, tongue in unending motion, a vortex, and there are fingers digging into his hair, and then into his shoulders, and into the sheets, and _oh_ , the song. Can’t stop, won’t stop until it’s just right, until it’s perfect. Her screams are cresting, rising ever upwards, and when the whole of her tenses, and his fingers are locked in a painfully tight death grip, they turn into one uninterrupted, brilliantly sustained note, as she comes against his open mouth. He still doesn’t stop. It’s impossible to stop when the sounds she makes are so beautiful and so addictive. Heartbeat booming, thrill rising, Sebastian ignores any and all whimpers of protest, keeps at it, speeds up until her moans gain in volume again, and goes for the kill. _Encore. Please. For me._

Afterwards, he gives her — and himself, as well, to a lesser extent, — time to re-learn how to breathe. _Did I do this?_ Painfully hard for her, Sebastian, nonetheless, doesn’t move until she shifts and asks, voice breaking just a little, “How do you want me, what... What would you like?”

The answer has been on the tip of his tongue for so very long. “Your mouth.” 

He doesn’t really register the dash, because it feels like she’s on her knees before him the very next second. She’s been there for months, but he wasn’t ready to accept it. He does now. Gladly, willingly, impatiently. 

And she’s impatient too, feverishly fumbling around for the slider on his jeans’ zip, fingers shaking, disobedient. He wants to help, so he does, not knowing what her reaction is going to be, but not even daring to hope for the one that actually follows. She sighs softly, and looks as if it’s a beautiful thing she’s seeing, a work of art instead of a piece of anatomy that’s aching for her in the most mundane way, as she slowly touches it and then, emboldened, strokes it. Sebastian feels doubly naked under her gaze, and, once again, miraculously, doesn’t mind. Something happens to him then, an odd urge amidst the ruckus of his insane arousal, and he does a ridiculously pointless, idiotic thing: tenses his muscles and twitches his cock as if it’s an arm waving in greeting once, twice. _Happy to meet you._ But she laughs, and her laughter is another one of his favourite songs, and then he’s laughing too, until neither of them are, until she lifts her head to look into his face. 

“I want to worship you. Please let me worship you.”

Whatever she means by that… _Yes._ Enough presence of mind only to nod.

Her lips part, another sigh escaping them, and she sinks lower and drags her tongue along the length of him, sideways. He’s frozen, and then he thaws out instantly as she takes him in, and, after a few moments, it feels like the underside of his cock is melting in red-hot and fiery. 

Nose, forgetting how to inhale oxygen. Hands, forgetting that they're there. 

She licks, teases, and sucks the head in, tongue waltzing circles, and teases some more, eyes open, locked with his. Neither of them blinking that much.

It feels so _unforgivably_ good that Sebastian is a little angry all of a sudden. Not at her, never at her. At himself, at God and at the Universe. _Could have had this sooner._

She doesn’t rush, she’s slow and not meticulous at all. Maybe she’s studying him, or maybe it’s something else entirely. He’s greedy and he gets too reckless too soon, he wants her mouth too much. Deep, _deep_ and hard. Unable to resist it, he presses her back against the wall, fingers darting down to her chin, to grasp it, pull it down, open wider. _Give me more, give me all of it._ So she gags after a while. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, barely audible, out of breath, withdrawing. That sound she made didn't sound like a good one. 

But she seems to disagree with the latter. Echoing his other thought, she says, “More.”

He wants to, _so much,_ but he’s reluctant. 

“Please, Sebastian.”

And she opens her mouth wide and looks up at him, tongue extended invitingly, eyes hazy, and that is all the permission his dizzy mind needs. Grabbing the back of her head, he sinks in. _Oh God._ He should slow down, he should be careful and gentle, it’s still tantalizingly sweet if it’s slow and gentle, but his hips have a will of their own, bucking hard and sharp. Hitting her throat and lingering there, and withdrawing almost entirely, giving her just enough time to take a breath, and plunging again.

“Relax your throat, please.” Is that even his voice. _Please try and take me deeper, I want to, I want to, this feels so good, please let me fuck your mouth._ She adjusts, and she manages to do as he asked, and makes the most delicious sounds, too, moaning, slurping, humming around him, so lewd, so obscene, so beautiful. Sebastian’s breathing is an avant-jazz cacophony. He knows he’s close, and for a second, he’s panicking, but it doesn’t last long, because, in a moment of shameless clarity he knows what he wants the most. His only hope is, she wants the same. He withdraws, and she mewls in protest. 

Her lips are flushed and red and wet and soft and pliant. “Please.” Working himself, _close, so close_ , he begs, “Open. Open your mouth.” And she does, ready and willing and wanting. “Taste me.” His hand works fast; a practiced, familiar sequence of repeating movements, and normally it’s a boring physiological necessity, except it isn’t, not now, not like this, not with what he’s seeing. He comes with a string of barely intelligible sounds he didn’t suspect himself capable of, and she makes sounds, too, and they’re _gluttonous_ as she struggles to catch every subsequent spurt on her tongue. Sebastian wills his eyes to watch, barely blinking, he wants to remember every little thing about this. He’s not even sure this isn’t a wet dream, so he plunges back once again and lingers for longer, unmoving, until overstimulation subdues his ardour, and makes him shiver, and Sebastian attempts to even out the vertigo with his palm open against the wall. She closes her mouth, lifts up her eyes and, looking right at him, swallows. Sebastian is undone. He’s boneless. He’s fading. He falls back onto the bed. 

For a while, she strokes his cheek... and then she leaves. _No, please._ But she comes back. With peaches. Plump, pink and iridescent. She offers him one, but Sebastian shakes his head feebly, and instead, mesmerized, watches her eat. Messily, not caring. She’s sitting naked on the edge of the bed. Eyes, smiling at him. Juice is running down her chin, and Sebastian moves closer and settles under it, stark naked, too. Mouth open, he catches the runaway drops and licks off the ones that do not rush to fall into it. 

She puts the pit away and slowly sinks her sticky fingers into his mouth. When he’s done, they’re not sticky anymore, and her eyes are hungry and dark. 

He can very nearly see himself with them, with her gaze. All those things she told him he is, Sebastian almost believes now. “Your hair is like liquid night.” “Not skeletal and ugly, Sebastian, they're elegant and graceful. Nothing that creates music the way you… they do, could ever be ugly...” “Your skin… It’s as if it has absorbed the moonlight.” “So beautiful… You are so beautiful, Sebastian.”

He’s so infatuated, it’s blinding him. The feeling is ethereal. Otherworldly. Unheard of, unseen, unfelt in this reign of communal gardens, overgrown fences, of genuine, polite, irritating concern. A skipping stone that would never sink. 

“I want to be inside of you.”

The way she looks at him, he’d guess she thinks, _but you already are._ And for a moment he thinks he can see tears welling in her eyes, but then that moment’s gone, and she’s giggling slightly as he pounces like a cat, topples her over and pushes her to the side. Then his fingers part and expose her once again, and the quiet laughter turns into another moan. 

Outside, night is falling, the red-brown twilight stealing the light from the room, bit by bit. They submerge into the darkness slowly, like digits into honey, slightly curling, moving together. 

She sucks his fingers in, and then lets go and licks the tips, and then repeats, as his hips are moving, languid, unhurried. 

He is inside of her, the entirety of him is. Under her skin, awakening anew, willing, aching to merge with her. 

Later, when he’s on top, her legs and arms are around him, and her throat is at his mercy, but he leaves it soon, to kiss her, continuously. Slow, chaotic, open-mouthed, lips moving in time with his hips, tongues, dancing a tethered dance around one another. When they exchange places and she’s on top, her arched back is a taut string, and his hands are wandering frantically, and then his mouth, as well, as he fills it with one of her breasts, groaning, and then another, and then gets greedy and pulls them together to lick at her nipples with his tongue extended, head bobbing from side to side, neck nearly popping, as her hips move to meet him, meet him, and meet him, and then tense improbably hard, and he feels the whole of her clench around him, like an angry living seashell, as she screams out his name, head thrown back. “Sebastian, oh, Sebastian, my sweet boy, so good, so good to me...” 

When he’s alone at night, he often hears howling, so he puts on his headphones and turns the music up. But there are other things in the darkness outside, tiny pools of light, and she is with them, if not of them. They sing and hum quietly, not howl. They are of the dawn, not of deep hours of the night. They are of kindness, and of compassion, and of love so gentle and quiet it inevitably makes any pain go away. Just like she is. 

He’s covered in sweat, blind and nearly deaf, and overfull with _happy_. 

There’s a muffled collision, and an “ouch”, and a flick of the switch, but nothing follows. The darkness is absolute and all-encompassing, the windows, black, the moon, asleep.

“Power’s out again.” He likes to think it’s the two of them to blame for this, in some mystical, bizarre and amazing way, but it’s just those old wires and fuses, they do that. Often, and all over the town. “I have some candles stashed in here”. She rummages in a drawer, and he follows the noise and pretends to help her search, just so their hands could meet in the middle, and intertwine, and pull, their naked bodies, their _naked mouths_ pressing against each other once more. 

She says something against his lips, seemingly wordless, silent, but Sebastian thinks, senses, knows that he heard exactly what. _Me too._

The two of them take a shower together by the light of a single candle, although there was a whole bouquet of them. 

Then they dry each other off and go back to bed to continue discovering things. And, in the end, discover quite a few. For instance, just how sensitive the skin on his testicles is as she sucks on them while working his rock hard cock with her hand. How deep, exactly, is _as deep as she would take me_ , how hard, exactly, is _as hard as I can_. Just how loud and desperate her honeyed screams can be as he fucks her from behind and his reckless trigger finger plays with her ass, a promise of things to come. How much he doesn’t want that treacherous pillow to muffle the sound, how readily and obediently she follows when he wraps his digits around her throat and pulls up. How a long, slow, exhausting ascent to the top is even sweeter in the end if the two of them reach it together. 

They’re worn out and they should sleep. Deep slumber is hovering close, somewhere just outside the edge of senses, waiting not too patiently. 

Sebastian knows that she usually retires early and then rises along with the sun. And she knows he likes to stay up until dawn. He hisses at the latter when it invades his basement den through that one tiny and high window, and then he pulls the sheets up over his buzzing head. 

They’d drift off together now, though. But that would mean… What would it mean?

She asks to comb his hair, because it’s tangled, and he lets her. So impossibly gentle with him. Like no one ever was. He’d never imagined he deserves this, but maybe he does. Sebastian’s world is fading in and out of focus. 

The bed is big, there’s almost enough space for two people to pretend to be starfishes. But as she lays back down, he crawls close to her, laying his head on her lap, and lets her cradle it and stroke his hair. His fingers are still a little restless, too, moving, drawing a shape on her thigh absentmindedly. 

_I want to stay,_ he thinks. _I want to stay, and to keep on staying._ Because all of this, all of _her,_ feels like home. 

It feels very quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> *Look, I can’t help it. Whenever I think of Sebastian for longer than five seconds, “Between the Bars” starts playing in my head on a maddening loop, and it doesn’t stop until I drop everything and go write another pointless one-shot. :D  
> *Not a native speaker, so if you see something that’s not quite in English, let me know, I’ll fix it. Imma lern till I deded.  
> *Thank you for reading, appreciate it. Would you maybe also do me a favor and check out my original work? It's really not that bad, and it has quite a lot of THIS :) *points up*


End file.
